by Jess Ryder
‘Sorry, I thought it was going to be a long session,’ I said. Fifty-three minutes was the record – I tried not to time their conversations, but I couldn’t help it. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Yeah, yeah. She had a migraine coming on, poor thing, so she had to go.’
We went back into the sitting room and resumed our places at the dining table, but the romantic atmosphere had evaporated. There was a chill in the air and the candles flickered ironically across our drawn faces. Nick looked tired, and the alcohol was starting to zing in my head.
Don’t ask him about the call, I instructed myself. Nick had only just returned from a business trip, and tonight was supposed to be a happy homecoming. I’d gone to some effort to look good for him. There were clean sheets on the bed, soft lighting and diffusers filling our room with exotic aromas. I adjusted the strap on my lacy push-up bra, part of a luxurious lingerie set he’d bought me for Christmas. Everything had been set for a special evening. Don’t let her spoil it, I said silently, but I knew the damage was already done. I sensed her ghost sitting at the table, dabbing her eyes with the edge of a napkin.
Nick tucked into his meal, but I stared at my plate, remembering how lovingly I’d peeled the shallots and fried the lardons in butter, how I’d squandered a good bottle of red wine on the shamefully expensive beef. I wasn’t a great cook, but I tried my best. Nick’s parents were always going on about how fabulous Jen was in the kitchen, whipping up gourmet meals with a flick of her spoon – it was probably true, but they mainly said it to hurt me.
‘This is delicious, darling,’ Nick said, refilling our wine glasses. ‘You really pushed the boat out tonight. Although I’ve eaten so much rich food these past few days, I would have been just as happy with egg on toast.’ So much for all that hard work, I thought, but I didn’t say anything. I was holding on to the remains of our evening by the tips of my fingers. One word out of place and it would crash to the floor.
‘Guess what? Hayley is having Ethan christened,’ he said a few mouthfuls later.
I frowned. ‘Why? She’s not religious. The other kids aren’t christened, are they?’ Ethan was a late surprise, the result of a bungled vasectomy. At forty-three, Hayley was considered to be a ‘geriatric mother’, and the whole pregnancy had been touch and go. Maybe, I thought, she wanted to thank God for his safe arrival. Or more likely she wanted to secure a place for him at the local church school. I didn’t get on with Nick’s younger sister – it was hardly surprising, considering she was Jen’s best friend.
‘She wants us to be godparents,’ Nick said, tearing off a piece of bread and dabbing it in the heady sauce.
‘What?’ I laughed as I settled my fork. ‘But I thought I was the bitch from hell.’
He flushed and looked down. ‘No, I’m sorry, I meant me and Jen.’ A sharp, cold blade plunged into my stomach. ‘Jen’s over the moon. You know how much she adores kids. She’ll make a fantastic godmother.’
‘Sorry, but that’s not on,’ I said, my voice breaking up. ‘It’s not appropriate. Hayley should know that.’ I paused, waiting for him to respond, but there was silence. ‘What did you say when she asked you?’
‘Hayley? She hasn’t yet. Jen rang to give me the heads-up. She’s worried it’ll be awkward for you but she’s hoping you’ll understand.’
‘Well, I don’t.’ I threw down my napkin and pushed my chair back. ‘It’s not fair, Nick. Hayley can’t be allowed to snub me like that. I’m your wife.’
‘She and Jen have been friends since school. It’s got nothing to do with – you know – with the divorce.’
‘Your sister hates me, so do your parents.’
‘No, that’s not fair. They were shocked when I left Jen, but they’ve accepted it now. They can see how happy I am with you, and they love Emily to bits.’ He stood up and tried to put his arms around me. ‘I’ll talk to Hayley. I’m sure Ethan could have two godmothers.’
‘I don’t want to be a godmother,’ I said, shrugging him off. ‘I don’t believe in God. And nor do you.’
Nick held up his hands. ‘But I don’t want to upset Hayley.’
‘No. I’m the only one you don’t care about upsetting.’
‘Darling, that’s not true, you know it’s not true.’
I stopped and checked myself. The last thing I wanted was a row, but it was so difficult not to rise to the bait. I imagined Nick’s sister at home, tipping back a glass of wine with a triumphant laugh. She loved nothing better than causing fireworks between us.
‘I understand how it’s horrible for Jen,’ I said after a moment, ‘but she’s got to let go. Move on. Find someone else. I know that sounds harsh, but—’
‘No, you’re right,’ he sighed. ‘I wish it were that simple. Jen’s been part of the family for years. We can’t just boot her out, it would be cruel. And besides, everyone loves her.’
‘What about you? Do you love her?’ I inhaled deeply, afraid of what I was about to hear.
‘Of course I don’t,’ he said quickly. ‘You don’t even have to ask that. Jen and I go way back, but I never loved her, not really, not in the way I love you.’ His words went straight to my heart and I held them there, stroking them for a few moments.
Then I said, ‘Don’t you think it’s about time you told her the truth? For her own sake?’
‘No. The truth is very overrated,’ he replied without a flicker.
I stared at him disbelievingly. ‘You can’t say that – the truth is everything!’
‘No, it’s not. People distort the truth all the time.’ He crossed the room and stood by the marble mantelpiece, momentarily distracted by a photo of the three of us taken a couple of hours after Emily was born. ‘I’m supposed to tell the truth in court next week,’ he said. ‘The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth – but if I do, I’ll lose my licence. And I don’t deserve that, I’m not a dangerous driver.’ Last month, Nick had been caught running a red light, and when they breathalysed him, he was well over the limit. His lawyer had prepared some story about Emily being taken ill and Nick having to rush home to look after her. The truth was, he’d been entertaining a Chinese investor.
I pursed my lips. ‘I’m talking about emotional truth. Surely it’s wrong to lie to people about your feelings.’
‘Not always. Sometimes it’s better to be kind.’ He walked back to the table and picked up his glass. ‘I want to build bridges with my sister, so I’m going to be Ethan’s godfather. And if she wants Jen to be godmother, well, that’s up to her …’ He drank the wine down. ‘I know it’s awkward for you, but there’s nothing I can do about it. If you don’t want to go to the christening, I’ll take Emily on my own. I’m sure everyone will understand.’
I shook my head. It was exactly what his family wanted, but there was no way I was going to give them that pleasure. I had to stand up for myself.
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. It would be excruciating and humiliating, but I would cope. ‘Let’s stop talking about it. Dessert? I made a chocolate mousse.’
‘Maybe later, I’ve more delicious things on my mind.’ He approached and this time I let him kiss me. We sank into each other’s arms and I felt myself quickening beneath his touch.
Then Jen’s ringtone shrilled out again.
3
Then
Natasha
* * *
‘Idiots! Fucking idiots!’ Nick stormed off ahead, pushing the double doors so hard that they almost banged in my face. I followed him down the courtroom steps, his lawyer a couple of paces behind. Johnny would get it in the neck now for not putting forward enough mitigating circumstances. The case for Nick needing his car for work had been strong, but the magistrate hadn’t bought the sob story about Emily being ill that night, and secretly I didn’t blame her. There had been no corroborating evidence from doctors, no record of a visit to A&E. Besides, it was Nick’s second offence for driving over the limit.
We stood awkwardly on the pavement, none of us knowing what
to do. Forever the optimist, Nick had insisted on driving to court, despite Johnny’s warnings that he probably wouldn’t be allowed to drive home. Now the Range Rover was sitting on a meter that was about to run out.
‘Thanks for that, mate,’ Nick spat out sarcastically. ‘Nice one.’
‘I said you needed a criminal lawyer, not a media one.’ Johnny looked at his watch, as if to signal that he needed to be somewhere else.
Nick pulled at his hair. ‘Three years! I can’t not drive for three years.’
‘I’ll learn,’ I said, trying to be helpful.
He made a scoffing noise. ‘You’d be hopeless, you’ve no sense of the road.’ I wanted to protest, but didn’t dare. ‘Anyway, you’re not going to pass your test in the next five minutes, are you?’ He pulled out his phone and switched it back on, tapping the screen impatiently until it sprang to life, shouting at his PA above the traffic. ‘Lola? Can you get someone to come and pick up the motor? … Yes, they’ve banned me … Bastards.’ Johnny took the opportunity to mime goodbye and made a hasty exit in the direction of the Tube. ‘Three fucking years … Yes, three. I know … Rob or Charlie, whoever’s free … We’ll find a café. Get them to text me when they get here. Quick as poss, we’re on a meter, okay?’
There was a little Italian around the corner, and Nick planted me there like left luggage while he stood outside on the pavement making more business calls he said couldn’t wait. I sipped my flat white and looked anxiously at the time. Emily’s nursery session finished in an hour. If someone didn’t arrive soon, I’d have to get a taxi.
I was fed up with his insistence that I would make a terrible driver. What had started out as a joke seemed to have morphed into an irrefutable fact. It all went back to our first encounter, the plot like something out of a rom-com movie.
It was about half-eight in the morning and I was cycling to work. The traffic was at a standstill all the way into the city centre, so although the lights were green at the junction, there was nowhere to go. The cars were sensibly waiting behind the yellow box, allowing traffic coming from the other direction to turn right. But I was in the bus lane, speeding downhill in the sunshine and feeling smug as I flew past the queuing traffic. Okay, I was on the inside of a lorry, so I couldn’t see what was happening across the other lanes. I was taking a risk. I realise that now, but at the time I was just heading for that green light. I didn’t notice the Range Rover until it’d already turned. It crossed over the red tarmac bus lane, clipping the edge of my bike with its front bumper and sending me flying over the handlebars. I remember somersaulting through the air and feeling, for half a second, weightless and graceful. I remember hitting the ground hard, but thankfully not head first. I remember looking up and our eyes meeting.
He was standing over me, white-faced and open-mouthed, gasping as if he’d just emerged from deep water. I swore at him loudly and refused his hand when he tried to help me to my feet. I carried on giving him a mouthful about 4x4s and the Highway fucking Code, but he didn’t protest, just nodded and apologised about a dozen times.
Even then, mid rant, some other part of my brain clocked that he was good-looking. He was wearing a sharp grey suit, a plain white shirt (no tie) and highly polished black shoes. Nice, even features. His salt-and-pepper hair was well cut and he had a tightly clipped beard. About forty, I thought. Smart and obviously well off. I was twenty-five, badly dressed and flat broke.
‘Let me get the car out of the way,’ he said, climbing back into the driver’s seat and turning onto the side street. The wheel of my bike was twisted and a brake cable had snapped. I dragged it to the side of the road and leaned it against a garden wall. After he’d parked up on a double yellow a few yards ahead, he walked back to me. I was feeling light-headed and I was swaying slightly.
‘Are you okay?’ he said. ‘You might have concussion.’
‘No, I’m fine, it’s just my elbow.’ I peeled back my sleeve to reveal a bloody scrape.
He grimaced. ‘You might need a tetanus injection for that.’
‘Honestly, I’m fine. I’ll see to it when I get to work.’ I unclipped my helmet. ‘Where’s the nearest Tube station?’
‘You can’t just walk off. You’re in shock. You need to rest, have a cup of tea, lots of sugar. Why don’t you come back to my house and clean up? I live just up there.’ He pointed to the hill behind him.
‘Thanks, but I’ve really got to go,’ I said. ‘I’m going to be late. I’m already on a warning for punctuality.’
‘But it’s not your fault, it’s mine. I’ll speak to your boss and explain. Believe me, I can be very persuasive.’ He gave a disarmingly boyish grin.
I felt myself weakening. I was feeling a little dizzy, and the thought of getting some pity points from my boss was tempting. ‘That might help, otherwise she won’t believe me.’
He put the bike in the back of the Range Rover and drove me to his house. My jaw dropped as we swooped onto the driveway. I counted the bedroom windows while he wheeled the bike into the garage and locked it up.
‘I’ll pay for it to be repaired, of course.’ He pulled out his wallet. His fingers hovered over a thick wad of notes poking out from the soft black leather. ‘How much do you think it’ll cost? A couple of hundred?’
The bike, bought on Gumtree, had only cost eighty and I had a friend who worked in a bike shop who’d repair it for nothing. It wasn’t really about the money.
‘Here, have five hundred, buy a new one,’ he said, misinterpreting my hesitation. He started counting the cash out and I thought: he just thinks he can buy his way out of trouble, when in fact he’s guilty of dangerous driving and should probably lose his licence.
So I said, ‘We’re supposed to report the accident to the police, aren’t we? You know, exchange insurance details, licence numbers …’
He gave me a sort of lopsided grin. ‘Well, yes, legally, but can you really be bothered to fill in all those forms? I don’t have the time. And it’ll take forever to get a new bike if you have to claim against my insurance.’ I frowned at him. ‘Of course, report it if you want, I’m just trying to make it easier for you.’
‘Well, yeah, I guess.’ He shoved the wad of notes into my hands, closing my fingers around it. ‘Now come inside and I’ll make you a cup of strong tea.’
Thinking about it now, I was taking a risk. There I was, a vulnerable young woman in a state of shock. How did I know he wasn’t a lonely psychopath who spent his days deliberately running over female cyclists so that he could lure them back to his basement torture chamber and drug them with spiked hot drinks? But it didn’t seem likely. And anyway, he wasn’t alone. A young woman I took to be the cleaner was washing the kitchen floor, tutting under her breath in Polish as Nick tramped across the wet tiles to pick up the kettle.
‘This is Natasha,’ he said. ‘I just knocked her off her bike.’ The cleaner gave me a suspicious look. ‘My fault,’ he added. ‘I couldn’t see past the truck – I should have waited.’
Was there sexual tension in the air? There must have been, I suppose, but I didn’t notice it at the time. I was just a slightly shocked stranger with a bloodied elbow and a bruised hip who worked in a coffee bar and lived with a couple of friends in a skanky house share. I was single and going through a phase of pretending I preferred it that way. Unlucky in love, or so my mother used to say as each relationship fizzled out or became overcomplicated. Anyway, he was far too old for me and not my usual type.
He showed me into a huge reception room and told me to make myself comfortable. He brought plasters and antiseptic cream, leaving me to patch myself up while he went to make the tea. I took the opportunity to study my luxurious surroundings. The style was overblown and romantic. White leather sofas, huge silk flowers in china vases, mirrors on every wall, dusky pink satin curtains, and twinkling white lights woven through a tall vase of silver twigs. I remember thinking that whoever had chosen the decor had more money than taste.
‘Is this your wife?’ I a
sked, pointing to a framed photo of a voluptuous young woman in a wedding dress, her thick brown hair cut into a savage nineties bob, streaked with golden highlights. Her body was curvy, but her face was all straight lines. An aquiline nose, wide mouth and sharp bronzed cheekbones.
‘Yes, that’s Jen,’ he replied, putting down a tray with two mugs and a plate of chocolate biscuits.
‘She looks very young.’
‘She was just nineteen, I was twenty-one,’ he said, nodding thoughtfully. ‘Childhood sweethearts.’
Neither of us could have possibly imagined that six months later, I would have taken her place.
4
Then
Natasha
* * *
Jen ‘popped in’ later that evening just as I was putting Emily to bed. She was always turning up with some excuse or other. Apparently she’d been worrying all day about how Nick had got on in court. I could hear her voice reverberating through the kitchen, her high heels clipping the polished floor. The thought of the two of them alone together was making me feel really tense. Poor Emily got a very short story that night.
‘It’s outrageous, Nicky,’ she was saying as I came back downstairs. ‘Can’t you appeal?’ He shook his head.
‘He was over the limit,’ I put in, ‘and it was his second offence.’
‘Yes, but that was yonks ago. No driving for three years! How will you cope?’
‘Oh, I’ll think of something,’ Nick replied.
She raised her thick painted eyebrows. ‘But how are you going to get to the christening?’
‘I’d forgotten about that. Shit …’
‘We can go by train, can’t we?’ I said, switching on the oven. We were having luxury pizzas that evening, but I didn’t want Jen, the perfect cook, to know.